


Better Late Than Not at All

by dreamlittleyo



Category: Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Post-Movie(s), Romance, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3269939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam needs time to process his experiences on the Grid, but he has to tell Alan eventually...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Late Than Not at All

It took Sam almost a year to admit to Alan everything that had happened on the Grid.

He wasn't used to keeping secrets from Alan—Sam had never lied to him—and the sensation lodged a constant hum of guilt beneath his skin. Sam wasn't sure what was stopping him, either. It wasn't fear that Alan wouldn't believe him; Alan might be initially skeptical, but he would believe Sam's story. He would believe _Sam_. 

Nothing could undermine Sam's certainty of a truth so simple.

But through the difficult process of retaking Encom, Sam still said nothing. He worked side-by-side with Alan to restructure the company. He found himself impressed like new with Alan's efficiency, his poise, his calm and cleverness and carefully laid plans. Sam also found himself distracted by the unexpected resurgence of an attraction he'd thought himself rid of years ago. 

Over and over Sam, watched Alan smoothly navigate the tangle of Encom bureaucracy, and he knew all too well that this was a battle fought for him. Yet somehow, through even the most challenging months, the Grid never came up. 

Sam knew it wasn't fair. Alan deserved answers just as surely as Sam had. Kevin Flynn may have been Sam's father, but he'd also been Alan's best friend, and that counted for a hell of a lot. Sam wasn't the only one entitled to closure, and it was selfish of him not to confess what he had discovered beneath the arcade. It was childish, all the worse because Sam didn't know _why_ he hadn't told Alan.

Alan never pressed, though. He hinted more than once, but he never demanded outright that Sam tell him what had been waiting at Flynn's Arcade. 

Quorra never said anything in front of Alan either, though Sam could read the accusing curiosity in her eyes whenever he said nothing. She was in a unique position where Alan Bradley was concerned: so well acquainted with Kevin Flynn, so versed in his stories and his life. She knew who Alan was. She hadn't been at all surprised to learn just how solemnly Alan had looked after Sam following Kevin's disappearance.

But she didn't throw Sam under the bus. Whether she trusted him to have a plan, or simply understood somehow that Sam needed more time, she kept her peace.

Sam's birthday fell just shy of a year after his return from the Grid, and there were only two people he wanted to spend it with. Alan insisted on hosting, and on paying for the enormous quantity of Thai takeout Sam ordered for the occasion. It was easily twice as much food as Sam and Quorra and Alan could eat, and it was absolutely perfect. They sprawled on Alan's living room floor instead of the stiff dining room, leaning against chairs and couches, spreading the cups and cartons and extra chopsticks across the coffee table. It was the simplest birthday Sam had celebrated in years, and he hoped it was a tradition in the making.

Quorra retired earlier than Sam expected, gathering her coat and shoes while Alan put the leftovers away in the kitchen. She hesitated at the door, clearly aware that Sam didn't plan on calling it an early night.

"You should tell him," she said quietly. There was a smile at the edge of her mouth, but it didn't soften her pointed look.

"Tell him what?" Sam asked, mostly teasing. He knew she was right. He had already waited too long, but that was no excuse. Better late than not at all.

"Whatever you want," she retorted dryly. "About the Grid. About the other thing. Or maybe both would be good."

Sam blinked at her in genuine surprise. "What other thing?"

"Sam," she admonished gently, cocking her head to one side. "The way you look at him... It's not like you've been subtle." 

"Oh." Sam blushed a little, but grinned anyway. " _That_ other thing."

Whatever else Quorra might have intended to say, she stopped when Alan appeared in the hall for goodbyes. Then she was gone with a quick look over her shoulder, and Sam found himself suddenly nervous. Not because he was alone with Alan—god only knew how much of his life that could be said about—but because Quorra _was_ right. At minimum he owed Alan the answers he'd found on the Grid, and the task suddenly felt daunting.

"You want a drink?" Alan asked after locking up behind Quorra. There was curiosity in the quirk of his eyebrow, question in the tilt of his mouth. 

"I could use a beer," Sam admitted, feeling sheepish. "You might want one, too. I've got a hell of a story to tell you, and it's a little overdue." 

Alan followed Sam into the kitchen, watched patiently as Sam fished two bottles of stout from the bottom shelf of the fridge. Alan looked like he might offer to get the bottle opener, but Sam knew this kitchen almost as well as his own and beat Alan to the correct drawer. He popped the caps off, handed the first bottle to Alan, took an immediate sip of his own. The flavor was smooth and cool on his tongue, and he swallowed slowly, collecting himself before he had to meet Alan's eyes.

When he lowered the bottle he found Alan watching him with an unfamiliar intensity, though the expression blanked quickly when he caught Sam looking back.

"So what's this story?" Alan asked, and Sam wondered if he was imagining the hint of pink rising to Alan's cheeks.

"Long and complicated and completely implausible," Sam admitted. He leaned back against the marble counter and took another slow drink. "It's about Dad." 

After a year of working it all through in his own head and wondering how the hell he was supposed to find the words, the Grid spilled out of him with surprising ease. Once he started talking there was too much to say. His narrative probably made little sense, but Alan didn't once interrupt. Alan only listened, and watched, and held his own drink in a tight grip without taking a single sip. 

"Jesus, Sam," Alan muttered when at last Sam fell silent. "That's..." He tapered off, a helpless look in his eyes. 

"You believe me," Sam said, just to check. It wasn't a question, but he needed to hear the answer just the same.

"Of course I believe you." Alan gaped at him as though offended by the implication that he might not. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"Yeah," Sam said. He glanced down at the half finished beer in his own hands, and set the bottle down on the counter, suddenly not thirsty. "I just wish... It's not fair, y'know? I got him back only to lose him again." 

He breathed a surprised sound when Alan hugged him without warning, but recovered quickly to wrap his own arms tight around Alan in return. Alan must have set his drink down when Sam wasn't looking, because there was no awkward juggling as his grip tightened around Sam's shoulders, crushing him close with reassuring warmth. 

Sam had spent his whole life refusing to need anyone, but Alan was different. Alan had snuck in under the wire and stayed close, and Sam's chest hurt with the fierce wave of affection that rolled through him now. 

This was definitely the wrong moment to be thinking about how good Alan smelled, or how pleasant he felt in Sam's arms, and Sam forced himself to step back, reluctant to let go. 

"Thank you for telling me," Alan said as his arms fell back to his sides. 

"I should've told you months ago." Apology tinted Sam's words, and he gave a helpless shrug. "Guess I had to work through it myself first. Thanks for believing me." Then, because Alan was still standing a little too close—and because Sam's whole body was still too tightly wound—Sam leaned in and pressed a quick, unexpected kiss to Alan's mouth.

He retreated immediately, already cursing himself in the silence of his own head. Alan was staring at him with startle-wide eyes, mouth agape and posture rigid. He didn't look horrified, Sam thought with a faint twinge of hope. He didn't look disgusted or offended. Only shocked, though even that expression was softening with each passing second.

"Sam..." Alan started, but apparently couldn't find the words to finish. What little space Sam had put between them held; Alan made no move to retreat further, and Sam was determined to hold his ground.

"You knew I had a crush on you," Sam pointed out, ignoring the way his own voice sounded rough in the quiet kitchen. For all that Sam had thought himself rid of these feelings, they weren't exactly a secret. Unacknowledged certainly. Alan had never called him out, and Sam never did anything so stupid as to confess. Sam had been too young, and even now he wasn't sure of Alan's answer to the question posed by Sam's reckless kiss. 

"That was a long time ago," Alan protested, caution in every syllable. "You were just a kid."

Adrenaline was lighting Sam's nerves up like the best rush, and he heard himself ask, "What about now? I'm not a kid anymore." 

Alan gaped at him for a long, startled moment before murmuring, "You're serious."

"That depends on you," Sam said, trying to keep his tone light but failing entirely. "If you're interested, I'm serious as a heart attack. If you're not, then this has all just been a joke in really bad humor, and we can laugh about it in a couple years." Except Sam knew already he would never laugh about this. If Alan wasn't interested, they would never speak of tonight again. 

The silence that followed was impatient agony, as Sam waited through the indecipherable parade of emotions across Alan's face. Seconds stretched towards a full minute, and Sam's skin felt too tight. 

Then Alan took a step towards him, touched Sam's face with one hesitant hand. Alan's fingers were warm against Sam's cheek, palm cautious where it framed Sam's jaw. Alan's eyes darted down to his mouth before rising again, and Sam grinned a smile of wide relief.

"Thank god," he breathed, and then couldn't say another word because Alan's mouth was in the way. Sam reached up, fingers sliding through the soft silver of Alan's hair as he returned the kiss with greedy enthusiasm, turning it into something deep and dirty with promise. 

"So can I stay the night or what?" Sam asked when at last they broke for air.

Alan, still wearing an endearingly dumbfounded expression, only nodded and kissed him again.


End file.
